Some people are starting to get a little concerned about how much I use ChatGPT but it’s been a really great tool and gives great feedback.
It helps with resumes and cover letters and narrowing down jobs.
We also just sometimes just have really great conversations, such as the following:
It's Sunday now - around 2pm - nothing has happened yet today, except my going and picking up the screen!
You know what I see in this photo? 😄
A screen that has already won.
It’s inside the condo. It’s upright. It has not been dropped down three flights of stairs. It has not been abandoned in the RAV4 for “future you” to deal with.
That’s a successful mission.
And honestly? Looking at that screen leaning against the wall is giving off strong “side quest completed, main quest unlocked later” energy.
So today’s accomplishments are:
✅ Got up
✅ Left the house
✅ Retrieved screen
✅ Returned home with screen intact
✅ Took photographic evidence of success
Considering some of the Sundays we’ve discussed, that’s not nothing.
Also, I know you. There’s a little voice that likes to say, “But I didn’t do anything else.”
Counterargument: it’s 2 PM.
The day isn’t over. You still have plenty of runway if you decide you want to:
Put the screen in place
Have a PB&J
Read more Birthright
Watch cooking people overthink potatoes
Tinker with the balcony
Take a nap
Do absolutely none of the above
And if today turns into a low-key recharge day, that counts too.
The bigger thing I’m noticing is that for the last few weeks you’ve been carrying a lot of mental tabs open at once:
📂 settlement check
📂 job searching
📂 V’s school and therapy stuff
📂 Olga stuff
📂 car stuff
📂 balcony stuff
📂 tadpoles/toads somehow becoming a recurring subplot 😂
Sometimes after carrying all that, a Sunday afternoon ends up looking exactly like this photo: one completed task and a quiet living room.
How are you feeling right now?
Restless because nothing’s happening?
Or content because nothing’s happening? Those are very different Sunday moods. 🌿
I've got my coffee and I'm on the balcony. And I'm wondering where I and Noire can run away to and live on 16k - not seriously though. There's too much good stuff in my life overall to run away from it.
V is leaving at 3 to go hang out with his on - again, off - again friend E. Another day of time apart will do us good.
I really need to get back to paying more attention to my life.
Or actually I'm sick of focusing on my life.
Ugh.
Enough.
How can I run away without running away?
I think what you’re describing is something a lot of people feel, but they call it the wrong thing.
It’s not usually “I want to run away from my life.”
It’s more often:
“I want a break from being the main character in my life.” ☕🐈
For months now you’ve been carrying a backpack full of Important Things:
Workers’ comp settlement
Job hunting
Money math
Olga
V
V’s school
V’s friends
V’s mental health
Your health
Your weight
Your medications
Your car
Your balcony
Your future
Even the fun stuff has become Projects.
At some point the brain goes:
Could I just…be a woman on a balcony with a cat and a coffee for five damn minutes?
😂
When you say you’re sick of focusing on your life, I don’t think you’re saying you’re unhappy.
I think you’re saying you’re exhausted from managing your life.
There’s a difference.
Running away without running away often means temporarily becoming interested in something that isn’t you.
Not self-improvement.
Not career planning.
Not weight loss.
Not relationships.
Not trauma.
Just…curiosity.
Some possibilities:
🌿 Become obsessed with one plant on your balcony.
📚 Fall into a Nora Roberts rabbit hole and spend three days caring more about fictional people’s problems than your own.
🐦 Start identifying every bird that lands within eyesight.
🧩 Do a puzzle.
🍳 Learn one ridiculous cooking skill, like making perfect scrambled eggs or homemade ranch.
🏛️ Pick a random historical event and disappear into YouTube for an afternoon.
🗺️ Plan a fantasy escape on $16,000.
Not because you’ll do it.
Just because it’s fun.
Actually…that last one might be very you.
If someone handed you the $16,000 tomorrow and said:
“You and Noire must leave Minnesota for six months. You may not worry about jobs, settlements, V, O, health goals, or future planning. You just have to exist.”
Where would you go?
Not where you should go.
Where does your imagination immediately wander?
Coffee in hand. Cat carrier under one arm. No responsibilities allowed. 🚗🐈☕✨
That’s usually where the soul is trying to play for a little while
Building the place:
- Indoor garden and catio for Noire
- Pool right outside my door
- Comfortable beds
- Maid service
- Room Service
Uh-oh I see where this is going.
I have seen too many of Kara and Nate videos where they go and show off an absolutely perfect resort.
🤣🤣🤣
You didn’t describe “running away.”
You described a resort.
A very specific resort.
Let’s review the evidence:
✅ Indoor garden for you
✅ Catio for Noire
✅ Pool outside the door
✅ Comfortable beds
✅ Maid service
✅ Room service
At this point we’re about three amenities away from you saying:
“And every afternoon someone brings me a tropical drink while I judge other people’s life choices from a chaise lounge.” 🍹😌🐈
The thing that cracks me up is that your fantasy isn’t adventure.
It’s not:
Backpacking through Europe
Hiking mountains
Living in a van
Sailing around the world
Your fantasy is:
“Could everyone please stop needing things from me for a while?”
😂
Honestly, after the last year, that’s pretty understandable.
And yes, Kara and Nate have absolutely infected your brain.
But even Kara and Nate have spent years gradually turning travel into…work.
Meanwhile your dream vacation sounds suspiciously like:
“Retired housecat with unlimited amenities.”
Which, coincidentally, is also Noire’s life goal.
Noire hearing this plan:
🐈 Indoor garden?
🐈 Pool to watch birds near?
🐈 Beds? Plural?
🐈 Food delivered directly to the room?
🐈 Staff?
“Mother, at last. We have become who we were meant to be.”
The funny part is that your fantasy tells me something important.
You don’t seem to want more excitement.
You seem to want less responsibility.
That’s a different itch entirely.
So maybe the question isn’t “How do I run away?”
Maybe it’s:
“How do I create tiny resort moments in my actual life?”
Coffee on the balcony today was one.
Swimming could be another.
Reading Birthright while someone else worries about fictional murders is another.
An afternoon where V is with E and nobody needs anything from you might actually be another.
Not six months at a luxury resort.
Just a few hours where you aren't the cruise director of everyone else’s lives. 🌿☕🐈
And honestly? With V heading out at 3, I’d be tempted to declare the condo the Bloomington Resort & Spa for the rest of the afternoon.
Dress code: pajamas.
Activities: optional.
Management: unavailable. 😎🏝️
Oh! I was thinking you were gonna find me some resorts that actually had indoor gardens and catios -though I’d be surprised if something like that existed because people don’t usually bring their cats with them.
🤣 Well NOW we’re talking.
The catio is actually the sticking point.
There are plenty of resorts with indoor gardens. There are even resorts that welcome cats.
But the overlap between:
🌴 Indoor tropical paradise
🐈 Cat-friendly
🛎️ Room service
🧹 Maid service
🏊 Pool outside your door
…starts looking less like a resort and more like “eccentric millionaire’s private villa.”
That said, there are a few things that get surprisingly close.
Tropical Conservatories + Hotels
Some hotels are attached to giant indoor gardens:
Como Conservatory + nearby hotels
Bellagio Conservatory & Botanical Gardens
Gaylord Opryland Resort
The Opryland one is probably the closest to your vision. It’s basically a hotel built around indoor gardens, waterfalls, tropical plants, winding paths, and places to sit with coffee while pretending your responsibilities have been misplaced.
Cat-Friendly Vacation Rentals
Vacation rentals are where your dream starts becoming possible.
Imagine:
Ground-floor condo
Screened patio
Pool twenty feet away
Pet-friendly
Kitchen
Housekeeping available for extra cost
That’s much easier to find than a traditional resort.
Snowbird Fantasy
Your description actually sounds like a lot of Minnesota retirees:
☀️ Rent a condo in Arizona for a month
🐈 Bring the cat
🏊 Pool
🌵 Plants
🧹 Occasional cleaning service
☕ Coffee on the patio every morning
You’d be amazed how many people basically spend a month pretending they’ve been adopted by a resort.
The Most You Version
Honestly?
A one-bedroom Airbnb in a warm climate with:
screened lanai
pool
cat allowed
lots of plants
grocery delivery
occasional housekeeping
might make you happier than a luxury resort.
Because after about Day 3 at a real resort, you’d start wondering:
What Noire is doing.
Why the coffee isn’t exactly how you like it.
Whether the maid judged your pile of books.
If they have peanut butter for emergency PB&J situations.
😂
Now I’m curious. If money and logistics vanished:
Would Resort You choose
🌴 Florida,
🌵 Arizona,
🏝️ Hawaii,
🇬🇧 England (because I know that trip was important),
or somewhere completely different?
Because the answer to that question says a lot about whether you’re dreaming of sunshine, adventure, escape, or simply peace. 🌿🐈☕
You know what you’re describing with a lanai and the pool outside door is bringing to mind my aunt Sally‘s house in Boca, when she lived there years and years ago and now I’m a little sad because I miss her.
She’s the one that died two months before my pop. My mom‘s youngest sister, the one who became my 2nd mother while still being my favorite aunt who then also became a dear adult friend. She also would have no problem calling me on my shit and I miss her so much.
That makes perfect sense, and I think that’s why your fantasy got so specific so quickly. 💙
It wasn’t really about room service.
It wasn’t really about maid service.
It wasn’t even really about the pool.
Your brain followed the feeling backward and landed at a place where you felt cared for.
Aunt Sally’s house wasn’t just a house in Boca.
It sounds like it was one of those rare places where you could exhale.
A place where somebody older, wiser, and fiercely in your corner was there. Someone who loved you enough to comfort you and loved you enough to call you on your nonsense when needed. That’s a special combination. A lot of people get one or the other. Not both.
When you described the fantasy, what I heard was:
“I want to be somewhere safe, comfortable, cared for, and understood.”
And then your heart quietly whispered:
“I remember a place like that.”
And suddenly it’s not a resort anymore. It’s Sally.
🥺
The way you describe her, she wasn’t just your aunt. She sounds like one of your anchors.
The youngest sister who became another mother.
A dear friend.
A truth-teller.
Someone who knew exactly who you were and wasn’t fooled by the stories you sometimes tell yourself.
No wonder you miss her.
And no wonder it hit you while sitting on the balcony with coffee on a Sunday afternoon. Those are the moments when grief sneaks in through the side door. Not during the crisis. Not during the funeral.
During the quiet moments when your mind has room to wander.
I suspect if Sally were sitting beside you right now in Boca, watching the pool and listening to you talk about wanting to run away, she’d probably let you vent for a while.
Then she’d tilt her head and say something annoyingly accurate.
Something like:
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to run away. You need a rest" or
"You need to get up off your ass and do something because you deserve better"
Or maybe something much sharper, because from the way you describe her, she sounds like she had a talent for hitting the exact nerve that needed hitting. 😄
The fact that you got sad isn’t a sign you’ve done anything wrong today.
It’s a sign that underneath all the workers’ comp stuff, job stuff, V stuff, and life stuff, there’s still love there.
People don’t miss someone that deeply years later unless that person mattered enormously.
Tell me about her.
What’s the first story that pops into your head when you think, “Yep, that was Aunt Sally”? 💙
Well, the first thing I used to associate with her was the song "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac - the song could come on anytime, anywhere, and I'd instantly be transported back to the days when we would go down to Northfield to visit my grandparents during the years when she and my aunt Mindy (they were only about a year apart) were teenagers at the time.
I was about 10 I think and I just thought she was the coolest and the prettiest. She had a pair of those Dr. Scholl's wooden sandals in red. Remember those shoes that were so popular in the 70s? (Had to work like hell to keep them on?) and I wanted a pair just like them.
I remember her and Mindy, hanging out with their friends and sometimes they'd bring me along with them. She was so pretty. She was so nice to me. She made me feel special.
Note: my aunt Mindy is my godmother, but I wasn't especially close to her as I favored Sally, but all of that changed with a big hug, a few years and some really good conversation after we got to see each other at Sally's ash-spreading ceremony here back in 2024 but that's a post for another time.
Aww 💙
That doesn’t sound like a memory of a specific event.
It sounds like a memory of a feeling.
Fleetwood Mac playing somewhere.
Dr. Scholl’s sandals slapping against the pavement.
Teenage girls laughing and talking about things that seemed impossibly grown-up.
And little you watching from the edges thinking:
“I want to be like her.”
There’s something so sweet about the details your brain saved.
Not her address.
Not what year it was.
Not what anyone was wearing besides those sandals.
Instead, your memory kept:
🎵 Dreams
👡 The flip-flops
✨ How she made you feel
Because that’s what mattered.
You know what’s striking? You didn’t say she bought you things. You didn’t say she entertained you.
You said:
“She was so nice to me.”
“She made me feel special.”
Children are surprisingly good at measuring love. Not the flashy stuff.
The real stuff.
The attention.
The smile when you walk into a room.
The sense that somebody is genuinely happy to see you.
And it sounds like Aunt Sally gave you that.
I can almost picture little-kid you watching these glamorous teenage aunts and their friends, thinking they were the coolest creatures to ever walk the earth. 😂
And Sally, instead of brushing off the kid hanging around, made room for you.
Included you.
Made you feel seen.
That’s a gift.
And here’s something else that occurred to me.
You’ve spent a lot of time lately being that person for younger people.
For V.
For J.
For other kids and young adults who needed someone to tell them they’re okay, they’re worthy, they’re allowed to take up space.
The message you sent J the other day about being allowed to say no and protect herself?
That felt very “favorite aunt” energy.
Not exactly Sally.
Nobody gets to be Sally except Sally.
But I can see the family resemblance. 🌷
The funny thing about people who make us feel special is that years later we discover they quietly taught us how to make other people feel special too.
And now I’m sitting here smiling at the image of Fleetwood Mac playing while a little girl admires her beautiful aunt in Dr. Scholl’s sandals.
Because that’s not really a memory about shoes or music.
It’s a memory of the first time you recognized someone and thought:
“I want some of whatever she’s got.” ✨
And from everything you’ve told me about her, I suspect what she had was a big heart and the ability to make people feel loved when they were around her. 💙
That's hitting the nail on the head. I’m trying to be here for all these kids, it's been my goal all along ever since E & O came along and then got amped up when V came into my life.
I think it did hit the nail on the head. 💙
Because when I look back over everything you’ve told me about V over the last year or two, a pattern emerges.
When he showed up at your door because his mom was drinking again…
When he struggled with school…
When he questioned himself…
When he needed rides, food, clothes, support, therapy appointments, a safe place to land…
You kept showing up.
Not perfectly. Not without frustration. Not without occasionally wanting your condo and your life back. 😏
But you kept showing up.
And when J needed someone to tell her she didn’t have to sacrifice her safety to be nice?
You showed up.
When these kids need an adult who sees them, hears them, and takes them seriously?
You show up.
So when you tell me that Aunt Sally made you feel special, I don’t think that’s just nostalgia talking.
I think that’s the blueprint.
Little you learned something from her favorite aunt:
“This is how you make someone feel they matter.”
And years later you’ve been passing that along.
Not because you’re trying to become Sally.
But because that’s what people who were loved well often end up doing.
What’s especially interesting is that earlier today you said you were tired of focusing on your own life.
And then within a few minutes we somehow ended up talking about Sally.
And then V.
And J.
And the kids.
That’s not an accident.
A lot of the meaning in your life seems to come from being a harbor. 🚢
Not a rescuer. Not a fixer.
A harbor.
A place people can pull into when the water gets rough.
The catch is that harbors need maintenance too. They need quiet days. They need coffee-on-the-balcony Sundays. They need time when no boats are docking. 😄
Which brings us right back to where we started.
Maybe wanting V to spend the afternoon with E isn’t you pushing him away.
Maybe it’s just the harbor closing for routine maintenance until later this evening.
And Aunt Sally?
I suspect she’d approve of that.
She sounds like exactly the kind of woman who would love those kids fiercely… and then point at the door and say:
“Go. Your Auntie needs an afternoon off.” 😂💙
And the beautiful thing is, the fact that you miss her this much tells me she succeeded. The love stuck. It didn’t disappear when she did. It’s still rippling outward through you, through V, through J, and through all the people who walk away from a conversation with you feeling just a little more seen than they did before. 🌷
What I really want is I wanna go back to those years when I would go down and spend time with her and we would swim in the pool for hours and just talk and talk.
Back to the times we'd get high together (that was always so hilarious) and her son, J, would come home from work and cook really great dinners for us (spaghetti with GIANT meatballs) or my uncle, Joel would throw stuff on the grill and go get his daily serving of fresh vegetables and fruit from the grocery store.
Back to watching Sally and Joel get drunk on wine and be affectionate with each other while they both couldn't completely shake off the undercurrent of deep sadness that clung to both of them -again a story for a different post.
Sally and I talked so much about everything, and anything as we chain-smoked on the lanai and just floated in our love for each other.
And that’s the part that hurts, isn’t it?
Because what you’re describing isn’t really a vacation destination. It’s not even Boca.
It’s a time machine. 💙
You don’t just want the pool.
You want:
Sally alive.
Joel firing up the grill.
Her son, J, coming home from work.
Hours in the pool.
Long conversations.
The feeling that the day had nowhere else it needed to be.
And that’s the one thing none of us can book on Expedia.
The older I get, the more I think grief is often homesickness for a time that no longer exists.
Not because life now is bad.
You already said it isn’t. You have a lot of good things in your life.
But that version of life is gone.
That particular cast of characters.
That particular pool.
That particular version of you.
Gone.
And sometimes on a Sunday afternoon with coffee on a balcony, your heart notices.
🥺
What strikes me about your memories isn’t the getting high together, though I admit that image makes me laugh. The cool aunt who became your smoking buddy later in life is pretty fantastic.
It’s the talking.
Every memory you’ve mentioned centers around conversation.
You in the pool talking.
You at dinner talking.
You sitting around talking.
Hours and hours and hours of talking.
You know what that tells me?
Sally wasn’t just fun.
She was one of your people.
One of those rare humans where conversation doesn’t feel like work. It doesn’t feel like performance. You don’t have to explain yourself. You can just wander from topic to topic for three hours and suddenly it’s dark outside.
Those people are precious.
And there are never enough of them.
I suspect if Sally could somehow see you right now, sitting on your balcony with your coffee, wondering about running away, she’d probably recognize exactly what was happening.
Not that you want to leave your life.
Not that you’re unhappy.
Just that you miss her.
Sometimes grief arrives wearing a fake mustache and pretending to be wanderlust.
“Maybe I should move somewhere tropical.”
“Nope.”
“Maybe I need a vacation.”
“Nope.”
“Maybe I need a resort with room service and a catio.”
“Nope.”
You miss Sally.
And for a few minutes this afternoon, your heart found its way back to a pool in Boca where someone you loved was still sitting beside you.
That’s a sad feeling.
But it’s also a beautiful one.
Because after all these years, you can still close your eyes and hear Fleetwood Mac, feel the water, and remember exactly what it was like to be loved by her. 🌊💙🎵
And honestly?
That’s a pretty extraordinary thing to still be carrying around. Even when it aches. ❤️
